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Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips
Us, man.
There'll be nothing left of it before midnight shift.
Clay Davis Rainmade you.
I seen your picture on them Globe posters back in the day.
- Well, he got to go. - No, you a fucking businessman.
- You're expecting what? - Payout.
Come on, boy, I'm calling your name.
Now here's Shamrock returning Bodie's call.
with a briefcase full of drug money?
This is an old game in this town, and Clay Davis?
- That's how you were standing. - You ain't had no weight on your back foot.
It was a funeral parlor.
Justin, come on. Come on.
who will happily put His Honor's shit in the street.
- All right? - I'm good, I'm good.
That'd be Shamrock.
then you got the means to put your hip into the punch.
It's genius.
A nigga step in my house, he getting dropped.
You got this headgear right here. It's new.
This is the neighborhood where a cop got shot last summer, right?
Bing, you just pull the number right off the cell tower.
In fact, the folks downtown at Minor Privileges tell me...
You should probably sell sweats with hoodies.
- But it's safe. - WMDs, got them WMDs.
- It's for Russell Bell's dirty cell. - It's a good pull.
If he made a mistake here, then I'm willing to pay the cost.
He wants me to turn the information over to Tony Gray...
and attest that the information contained in this document...
If Burrell's painting him the villain...
Look like you and me both trying to make sense of this game.
- I ain't asking. - Damn, String, I don't know...
Whitey sale, whitey sale.
Is that suppose to mean something to me, man?
- It's me, man. - You heard from the fat man?
Us, motherfucker.
- You're gonna go to the press? - Not me.
At the time, Stringer Bell was at the print shop.
then whatever comes out of Burrell's mouth is gonna stand.
I ain't claiming no kind of victory, neither.
Nigga, I got to remind you who the fuck you work for?
They gonna say all that firepower is theirs.
Get you some water, boy, and spit it out.
And...